


Under Siege at The Hog's Head Inn

by ChalkStick



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Hogsmeade, Second War with Voldemort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 18:08:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6250114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChalkStick/pseuds/ChalkStick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Couple of one-shot insights into the experience of Aberforth Dumbledore, landlord of The Hog's Head Inn and oft overlooked younger sibling to Albus. Set during the Second Wizarding War.<br/>An eclectic array of other characters make an appearance but I promise they make sense in context, such as Remus Lupin, Minerva McGonagall, Tonks and Dobby.</p><p>J. K. Rowling owns the characters</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The (re)start of war

They were under siege again. Cruelty and fear breeding in the darkness outside the warmth of The Hog’s Head Inn; outside his home. Metaphorically speaking of course. In fact it was hardly dark or cold, it was a brilliant summers’ day. And Death Eaters were not actually banging on his door, yet. It was early days. But Voldemort was back, not that he had ever really gone, and paranoia was raising its ugly head in everyone’s minds.  


‘Another bottle of Berry Ocky Rot would ya’  


Aberforth glanced at the man addressing him as he fetched the asked for drink, he recognised the hooded mulberry coloured cape. It was an old locksmith who dealt in a side street off Diagon Alley. He had his usual drinking companion with him who was also hidden beneath a hooded cloak. Not that covering up was odd here. They finished the transaction and the pair settled back into the far corner of the bar. Aberforth picked up a dirty glass and an old cleaning cloth.  


He looked up as he heard the door creak open admitting a tired looking Minerva and Remus. He gave a nod of his head by way of greeting. They wound their way between the tables to the bar.  


‘Two Firewhiskeys’ please Aberforth’, Minerva asked laying down the necessary coins on the bar. 

Aberforth silently pulled out a pair of glasses and poured out the Blishen’s Firewhiskey. They took their drinks gratefully before going off to find seats. They looked wary. No doubt his brother had sent them off on some mission or there had been a particularly intense Order meeting. He didn’t often attend meetings. He knew his role. Laughter cut into his ruminations. The pair at the far end of the bar where chortling over their drinks.  


‘Muggles’, the black cloaked one declared quietly to his partner.  


Aberforth couldn’t hear anymore and so he slipped back into his musings. It was remarkable how few people could wage a war. Sides were being taken, or perhaps retaken was more accurate. The Death Eaters and the Order. The old-timers regrouping and recruiting. But the majority were in the middle. Ha! The majority didn’t even know! There was a heady mix of misinformation, presumption and survival instinct.  


Aberforth looked up from the glass he was polishing to study Minerva and Remus who were sat in the furthermost corner of the pub, talking in hushed tones.  


A perfect case study of peoples’ paranoia. Remus was a known werewolf, a dark creature. He was one of the first to fall victim to the change in temperament. People were grouping together, becoming more hostile to outsiders. Which was probably why they were here instead of The Three Broomsticks. His clientele kept to themselves. Or rather the hags, Knockturn dealers, and other vagrants that frequented The Hog’s Head were just as subjected as Remus and so tended not to point fingers. Instead keeping concerns and suspicions to themselves. Whilst Minerva and Remus were just as paranoid. No doubt they were also speculating and worrying about that which they could do very little to change. The future. The war.  


Aberforth rubbed methodically at the glass in his hand with the cloth. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the locksmith handing something to his companion. Aberforth shifted subtly to get a clearer view, noting that it was a small leather purse. The black cloaked man emptied the bag into his hand. Keys.  


Aberforth gave a sudden bark of laughter.  


He was the same.  


Like the dirt in the cracks of the glass he was polishing, paranoia had made its home.


	2. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in Hogsmeade in the Half Blood Prince year.

Aberforth stroked the coarse fur of his goat, trying to settle her after the latest Dementor attack on Hogsmeade. Up and down the country the foul creatures were becoming bolder. The ministry had lost all control of them unable to provide prey to satisfy them, prey like Voldemort offered. The more skilled residents, including Aberforth, and the patrolling Aurors had pushed them back, but their constant lurking seemed to be draining the life out of the village.

Pushing the images of his worst memories away that the dementors had just resurrected Aberforth scrutinised the scene before him.

‘It’s all right now’, Dawlish was loudly addressing the crowd of distressed locals, ‘Savage and Proudfoot have returned to patrolling the perimeter and the Ministry can ensure your safety…’

Aberforth’s eyes flicked away from Dawlish and his empty reassurances to the mousy haired Auror who was actually making herself useful.

Tonks was working her way between the pale faced villages with a jar of Honeydukes chocolate that Ambrosius Flume had donated from his shop. A resilient and smart girl. It was no wonder his brother had enlisted her. But it seemed to have taken its toll. Tonks’ face was still ashen as she went round ensuring everyone had a piece of chocolate and encouraging them to eat it. 

Aberforth spotted a young girl whose face was covered in silent tears. He stared transfixed, she was wide eyed, still trapped in whatever horrors her memory held and apparently oblivious to the chocolate in her hand. 

Youth was delicate. 

Tonks crouched down to the eye level of the girl, breaking Aberforth’s reminiscence. Tonks gave a gentle smile and guided the girls’ hand which was holding the chocolate to her mouth. She started to eat mechanically and slowly she seemed to notice the Auror in front of her. Tonks fed her more chocolate until the tears had ceased flowing from the girls eyes. Tonks stayed by her patiently, keeping up a comforting smile. 

The Auror knew how to soothe children, many did not. 

An anguished woman rushed into the scene scooping the girl into her arms, stroking her hair whispering words of comfort. The girls’ arms clung back tightly.

Aberforth looked back down at his goat, tears glazing his eyes. He sighed, and slowly walked back into The Hog’s Head, passing behind the bar into the backroom where hanging on the wall was the portrait of Arianna.


	3. Trafficking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in Hogsmeade in the Deathly Hallows year.

With a flick of his wand Aberforth added the mountainous piles of onion, celery and carrot peelings to the bubbling pot in his kitchen. Dobby was stood beside it on his tip toes stirring, adding some mushrooms and seasoning, sniffing the broth like a gourmet chef. 

‘mmm… It’s the best that Dobby can do’, the elf surmised from his inspection.

He had managed to sneak out of the Hogwarts kitchens to help Aberforth cook for the renegade students. They moaned about his cooking. Ungrateful sods! 

Aberforth rummaged around his cupboards pulling out loafs of bread, it wasn’t exactly fresh but it wasn’t mouldy yet so they could quit their complaining. 

Did they have any idea how difficult it was feeding that lot? It paid to be paranoid now, it kept you safe. He couldn’t exactly walk into a shop and start buying vast quantities of food without arousing suspicion.

Aberforth grumbled to himself as he chopped up some thyme and parsley. The kids were being down right reckless. Blind and vulnerable in their optimism. He tossed the herbs into the pot, which Dobby was diligently stirring. It was now full to the brim of a dirty amber coloured liquid and green lumps.

Thud. Thud.

Aberforth and Dobby froze. Someone, probably not friendly, was at the door after curfew. They glanced at each other, Aberforth could see the elf’s bulging eyes. 

Thud. ‘OPEN UP!’

Dobby squeaked and started scurrying around hiding the cooking whilst Aberforth headed to the door.

He threw open the door wand raised, ‘what do you lot want?’

Two men stood shoulder to shoulder, wands pointed straight at Aberforth, on the doorstep of the Hog’s Head Inn.

‘We need to take a look around’, the taller one sneered pushing past Aberforth.

The pair walked deliberately across the pub, pushing chairs out of their way. Thankfully Dobby had been able to remove all of the cooking smells and the men seemed to be after something specific. They reached the furthermost bay window where the taller man stopped and stooped down into the corner, as he straitened back up Aberforth saw him tuck something inside his cloak. 

Gits! Death Eaters and their profiteering allies trafficking potions and no doubt poisons through his pub. They weren’t even bothering to be discreet anymore!

They were sauntering back across the room with condescending smiles.

‘Well, that will do for now’, the shorter of the two informed Aberforth. With one last sneer they exited the pub.

Well two could play that game. Aberforth smiled grimly to himself as he headed back to the kitchen preparing to send the food down the tunnel into Hogwarts.


End file.
